


Birthday

by yespolkadot_kitty



Series: Cupboard Love [1]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Baking, F/M, Fluff, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 07:39:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5448596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichabod bakes a cake for Abbie. Fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday

After some suitable needling of Miss Jenny, he manages to procure the Lieutenant’s birthday information, and realises with concern that it is a scant four days from now. Discarding the idea of obtaining a cake from a shop, or, horror of horrors, using a “cake mix,” an abomination of modern times, he instead – with as much grace as he can muster - accepts funds from Captain Irving to purchase ingredients.

 

At first he – foolishly – imagines the romanticisim of grinding his own flour; churning his own butter just so. But between research in the Archives for the latest beastie to roam the underground tunnels, there is no time for such flights of fancy.

 

So he settles for shopping at the farmer’s market he frequents for fresh bread and loose leaf blueflower Earl Grey; he charms the Sleepy Hollow WI into loaning him a pretty glass cake stand and a recipe book by an apparent modern cook of note.

 

Once he has gathered the necessary items, however, the method of baking is less straightforward. There is no oven in the Archives. He cannot use the house he shares with Abbie, or else she’ll catch on and the surprise will be ruined.  
Miss Jenny turns her apartment’s small kitchen over to him for the day whilst she goes in search of party supplies.

 

He opens the recipe book he has borrowed and finds the page he chose earlier.  
Where he’s from, dessert was boiled apple pudding and sugared fritters; not the monstrous, icing-laced concoctions that he sees in shop windows. Afraid of making an utter hash of such incongruous an item, he has opted for a simple sponge cake, sandwiched with cream and fresh strawberries, sprinkled with icing sugar. Miss Jenny has taught him about “pre-heating” the oven and about grease-proof paper. Another modern marvel.

 

He refuses to use a silicon cake tin and chooses a metal one instead.

 

He also refuses the pale green polka-dot apron she tries to press upon him.

 

Two hours later, the worktop is an abomination of egg shells and flour, and so is he. He has somehow made use of every bowl he could find in Miss Jenny’s cupboards, and every damned thing smells of strawberries.

 

“God’s wounds,” he mutters, but it’s done. The cake – the damned cake, so enticingly easy-looking in the recipe book, is done. He glances back at the “Difficulty 2/10″ rating with a furrowed brow and a huff.

 

All he has to do is transport it.

 

He remembers to turn the oven off just before he leaves Miss Jenny’s apartment.

 

Later, at their shared house, with the table laid and the infernal – and slightly lopsided – cake sitting on the stand, bunting hanging from the ceiling, and balloons tied up outside the door, he sees Abbie’s surprised and grateful face. And her goofy smile is all the thanks he needs.


End file.
